Rusted Cogs
by SuperwholockShipper
Summary: World War 3 left the world broken and at the mercy of it's governments. America has been rebuilt to glory, or so they say. Society functions perfectly, but occasionally a cog rusts. Why remove it when you can scrub it clean?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Here's what's up:**  
**-"Strikes" are black marks that get burned into someones wrist after they do something to defy the "natural order" of this scary-ass society. You can be any age, it can happen at any time**  
**-Children whose mothers die in childbirth are AUTOMATICALLY striked.**  
**-3 strikes and you're sent to be re-educated (more on this later)**  
**-The poem that will appear in the fic is by me. It's called rusted cogs and I based this fic off it**  
**-Enjoy!**

* * *

_Fight, damn it_

_Fight them and their ways_

Three strikes and you're out. Three black marks next to your name and social security. Three black marks burned into your wrist. Ask too many question, stand out to much, have too much sex, fight the system. There's only so many times you can piss them off before the cog has to be removed. No one wants a strike out; not your parents, not your friends, least of all the government. At first they would just kill you, remove you from the machine all together. Cheaper, more efficient. But, you see, those pesky rebels, they stop being afraid of death. Hell, some of them welcomed it. So they needed something new to hold over their heads, something that would scare them.

Re-Education. That's what they called. And before you say anything, I know, I do; **them**. The suits, Big Brother, the faceless contollers of the Universe. Call it a cliche all you want, but the truth is still the truth. Post-apocalyptic pollitics is no joke. Your anonymus leaders are your protectors, your guardians against the dangers. Terrorists, arsonists, protestors, teenagers. Fit into your social mould or be considered a threat. And threats get re-educated.

Let's meet those little mishaped cookies, shall we?

**Strike One**

8 year old Castiel asks too many questions.

"Why is the sky blue?"

"It just is, Castiel."

"But why, Mama?"

"Stop asking. It is the way it is." Castiel scrunches up his pale face

frustrated. His parents rush to get ready for work.

"Help your grandmother clean the house, we'll be back at six."

"Bye, Daddy!" His father nods curtly and they both are gone. He looks across the table to his grandmother, who grins around her dentures at her only grandson.

"Light waves." He narrows his eyes.

"Light what?" Her grin grows wider. She is 96, she had been young when the war started.

"Light waves. Molecules in the sky scatter blue light waves from the sun. That's why the sky's blue."

"Grandma, what are you talking about? You're not making any sense."

"I'm making a hell of a lot of sense, boy. I may be old but my brain ain't mush yet." She winks at him. "There's a whole lot of knowledge in this brain of mine that I keep to myself. You best keep it to yourself too."

"That concludes today's lesson, children. Return home now, I will see you all tomorrow."

"Goodbye, miss," the class of eight year olds choruses. They leave the room in single file, Castiel stays on.

"What is is, Novak?"

"Miss? Why don't we lear about molecules?" Miss Summers freezes.

"What did you just say, Novak?"

"Why don't we learn about molecules? And light waves?" She grabs his thin wrist.

"Come with me to the Principal's office, Novak. You're about to be taught a very important lesson."

His mother is crying upstairs. He can hear his father trying to comfort her. Grandma just stares at him knowingly as he rubs the painful fresh burn on his wrist.

"What did I tell you about keeping your mouth shut, boy? What did I tell you?" She shakes her head sadly. "You've got to learn to keep to yourself. You don't want to be re-educated, do you?"

9 year old Dean should have just shut up

Daddy has been alcohol off the clock every since Mommy died. Poor little Sammy never even knew her, but the little black mark on his tiny wrists claimed it was his fault. Not that Daddy blamed the baby, oh no. He's better than that. That isn't to say he doesn't lash out.

It starts when he is 5, a year after Sammy was born.

"Hold still."

"Daddy, it, no it hurts, please don't..."

"Shut the fuck up," he hisses his breath warm with cheap whiskey. "Just- just shut up."

"It hurts, he whimpers.

"I don't care, just stay quiet. It'll be over soon."

4 years later he tells Missouri, the nice lady next door who would look after them when their father was working, where the bruises came from. She gets very quiet and then she calls the police.

When it comes down to it, it is his word against an adults. Sammy doesn't know, can't back him up. They believe John, and Dean goes home with a black mark to match his brother's. At least the touching stops after that.

10 year old Ruby finds her parents illegal stash of whiskey and drinks it

She's too young to know any better, but the burning feels good in the back of her throat. A neighbour hears her as she crashed to the floor and vomits up her breakfast. The parents claim they had no whiskey in the house, only three regulation bottle of red wine. The authorities decide to go the easy route and little Ruby cries herself to sleep scratching at her wrist.

10 year old Meg buys a pack of cigarettes

She buys them off a teenage boy who has a faded tattoo, like it's mid removal-treatment, and two strikes. Her house is so cold at night, the cigarettes warm up her soul once she stops coughing. Her father catches the smell the next day and the rest is government recorded history

8 year old Lucifer runs away

His mother lost the new baby in childbirth and they say it's because Lucifer is a bad child. They call him a demon, they say he is cursed, a blight on their family. So, on a cloudy Sunday night he packs a bag and runs. He lives in with some vagrants one town over for two whole days before they find him and drag him home, the paper work for his strike already filled out.

11 year old Victor keeps bad company

He just can't make friends with anyone from school. Then he meets Nancy. She's been his best friend since he was 8 years old. Shame about her being a prostitute

"Hey Vic!" Nancy drawls as he walks into the abandoned carpark.

"Hey, Nancy." Victor thinks Nancy is beautiful, even if she wears too much makeup and too little clothing. "How is work?" She laughs.

"Work is work, turning tricks ain't all it's cracked up to be. I'd take my John's over office slavery any day though." She smiles lazily at her young friend. Victor knows she has probably been bumming heroin all morning, but he still likes to see her smile. "C'mon, boy. Can't keep the family waiting.

Their family consists of Amelia and Cassie (and Nancy of course), all prostitutes; Travis the fencer, Mark the schizoid, Risa the gang lord's daughter, Frank the bipolar conspiracy theorist and Ava who's 10 and still hiding from her parents after running away the previous year. All under 30, all but Victor and Ava have strikes. Nancy, Frank and Richie only have one left.

"Victor, mein comrade! How suburbia treating you?"

"Same as always, Frank. I'd live here if I could." He smiles at the youngest of the group. "Hey Ava." She grins at him through gapped teeth. Risa held up a crack pipe.

"Any takers? This is good shit." Mark shake his head frantically.

"That stuff rots your brain." Risa laughs.

"Like those pills Richie brings you don't."

"Hey," protests Richie, "Ain't nothing wrong with them pills. Stole 'em myself, the best Marky's money could buy."

"Speaking of," Cassie clears her throat, "Doctor Richie owes me 30." Richie swears softly, but is smiling as he roots through his pockets.

"Can't get one past you, can I, Cassie?" She takes the money and blows him a kiss.

"You like me too much." Victor settles into his usual spot atop a burnt out car, smiling at the familiar banter.

Frank has lived in this building for 6 years, the police haven't ventured in here since it closed down. Richie and Amelia were together once, they came together, ran away for each other. Nancy and Cassie stumbled in not long after, Risa helped turn the place into a real home when he turned up, Mark is only there a year longer than Victor.

He's the only one who doesn't live with the family permanently, his father expects him home by curfew. Not his personal curfew, city curfew. His parents don't care enough to set a time, they just do what is expected of them.

"Everybody stop," whispered Frank. Amelia looks up from the cards she was dealing.

"What is it, Frank? The monsters coming for you?"

"Shhh!" he whispered frantically. "There's someone in the building." Victor heart stopped, Ava froze. Risa shoved her belongings into a backpack, Cassie and Nancy stuffed the money they were counting into their bras. Richie was opening the door the fire escape.

"Go, go, go," he said as he pushed the younger ones out the door. He knew what would happen if they caught him, but his family's safety came first. He wasn't expecting the police to come up that way too.

Nancy, Frankie and Richie are sent for re-education. Ava is taken away. Risa is brought back to her father and turns up in a river soon after. Cassie and Amelia leave town in the middle of the night, sobbing all the way to the next state. Mark won't let them take him, he puts a bullet in his mouth first.

Victor earns his first strike. He never sees his family again.

_Do not go gently_

_Into their manufactured constraints_


	2. Chapter 2

_A comfortable prison_

_Is a prison none the less_

No one talks about the war.

It was long and bloody, they say. Many brave men lost their lives, but it's all over now, they say.

We won, they say.

It's been 75 years of peace. All that fought are dead in the ground, or old and put away. The first peace-time generation are decrepit and useless, waiting to die as their memories fade. After that; ignorance. Blissful ignorance. Turning their back on history because that's what they were told to do. That's all they ever do: what they're told.

Who were we fighting? What were we fighting for? How did we win? Did we even win?

We survived, alright. But not like a phoenix from the ashes. Like a sick dog, sucking up the end of our resources, driving ourselves to our own graves. Out with the old, in with the new. The sick, broken, colourless new.

Our health isn't what it used to be. It was never stellar in the first place, but what can you do. When generation after generation is suffering silently from the fallout of an event that doesn't even officially exist anymore, treating it becomes difficult.

The biggest problem is pregnancy. Ah yes, the miracle of life. Getting the little fuckers out just isn't the same anymore, they tend to leave a bit of a mess in their wake. 18 percent of them kill mother dear. God bless America.

So, what do you do? You need children, but you often lose a working member of society in the progress. It will be years before the child is old enough to work in order to replace their parent. What do you do?

Solution: blame the child.

Think about it. If you give the child a strike, they carry that for the rest of their lives. They have one less chance than everyone else. That's pressure to stay productive, to work harder. They become obsessed with making themselves useful; after ten, twenty years, they earn back the losses they caused. Ingenious, really.

So what about those children doomed to live the "slave life"? Well, some of them blow their two chances. Poor kids.

**Strike Two**

6 year old Anna doesn't know what the lever does

Her brother Inias is bringing her home on the train. Inias doesn't like Anna, their mother's death was her fault. That's what the government men told their father when they took Anna and striked her. _Stupid little bitch_.

He wouldn't tell her what the lever did. The sign is old and faded. She just wants to know.

"If you want to know so bad," he whispers, "Why don't you pull it?" And naive little Anna does just that. The train screeches to a halt, an alarm begins to ring. Inias grins at her. "Stupid little bitch." It's her own fault for being born.

She cries for days afterwards, scratching and scratching at those ugly black mark.

"Stupid little bitch," she sobs. "Stupid little bitch."

8 year old Lisa doesn't like her hair

Her step-mother likes it long, curly. She says it makes her look pretty. It annoys Lisa.

"Can't I get it cut? Please?"

"No, Lisa. This is how you will wear it, all long and beautiful."

"Why can't I have hair like Ben's?" Her brother's hair is short and spiky, much nicer than Lisa's. Mrs Braeden looks horrified.

"No! Ben has boy hair, you have girl hair. No go clean your room."

Snip. Snip. Snip.

Hair covers the bathroom floor. Long black curls, lying around in heaps on the pristine tiles. Lisa meets her own mirrored eyes. Short tufts of hair stick out of her head in every direction. She loves it.

Mrs Braeden makes sure she hits Lisa somewhere people can't see before bringing her to be striked.

9 year old Gabriel can't help himself

It just looks so good. A fresh cherry pie, sitting there on his neighbours window sill. He can smell it, it smells like what his grandpa used to make before he died. His mouth waters. He hasn't eaten pie in years, his parents are completely against the idea of eating for indulgence. Eating is for obtaining the proper nutrients to work and be a productive working member of society. Gabriel just wants a taste.

A taste turns to the whole pie.

Stealing. Lying. Breaking and entering. That's what the report his neighbours filled out says.

Must have been some damn good pie to strike a kid over.

13 year old Sam finds it in the library

Libraries are for working. For absorbing information. It is full of textbooks and practical manuals. Pleasure reading doesn't exist anymore.

Sammy learned to read when he was 5. His teachers told dad this wasn't a bad thing, but to be wary. Monitor him, they said. Make sure he doesn't do anything he's not supposed to. They wouldn't want to strike him again.

He looked through the dictionaries and etiquette guidebooks. He's bored, so bored. On whim he pulls out an atlas of the Reformed American States. He doesn't expect to see a cylinder jammed in the back of the shelf. He looks behind him, the library is empty.

"This is a bad idea," he mutters. He takes it anyway.

Pages and pages of handwritten words. Thousands and thousands of words. People don't tend to write much anymore, Sam has never seen so many words in his life. By the light of his bedside lamp, he begins to read.

"When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton..."

Sam Winchester has discover a new world. A world of hobbits, of wizards, of elves and dwarves and great men. A world so different from his own, full of life and adventure and beautiful, colourful words. He's in heaven; he reads for nights in a row, never wanting to stop.

"...Then shouldering their burdens, they set off, seeking a path that would bring them over the grey hills of the Emyn Muil, and down into the Land of Shadow.

Here ends the first part of the history of the War of the Ring."

"What? Wha-" Sam couldn't breathe. It wasn't over, it couldn't be. There was so much left of the story, so many things he needs to know. He didn't even know what the story was called, who wrote it. He wanted to keep it, treasure it forever, but he knows he had to put this wonderful handwritten book back where he found it for the next person to find it.

Shame it never makes it back.

"Alright, class, listen please. 6 of our students were found with drugs in their possession. Protocol dictates we must search each of your belongings on the off-chance more of you were invloved. Bags on desk."

Sam closes his eyes. _Fuck fuck fuck_. It's over now. They're going to take his story, they're going to destroy the world of Middle-earth. He couldn't protect it. Who knows how many people had read it and carefully put it back, how many people wouldn't be able to.

That's when Sam Winchester fully understands. When they take the cylinder, when they drag him out of the room, when they strike him, when they burn the pages in front of him; he understands. This is a pity, vengeful society. A destructive, poisonous, cancer on humanity. He understands.

And he breaks out of his mould. He sees past their illusion. He chooses free will. He chooses to fight.

12 year old Michael finds Isiah while coming home from school

He's so small, only a baby. Squirrels are dying out, people don't care. What good are squirrels for anything? Just a species of rodents that have survived despite the odds. So everyone just ignores the pitiful, trembling little thing on the side of the path. Except Michael.

It barely has any fur, its belly is pink and trickling blood. It looks like it's given up. He takes off his jumper and scoops it up, running all the way home.

Michael gently wipes at the cut with salt water. It has stooped bleeding, it doesn't even look that bad, but the squirrel is still trembling. He wraps it up in a blanket and puts it in a box.

"I'll put you back as soon as you're better," he whispers. After a minute he adds, "I'm gonna name you Isiah."

The squirrel has been with Michael for three week and living off warm milk and yogurt. He feeds Isiah whenever he can, hides him from his father. Three tiring, troublesome, happy weeks. Michael has never been responsible for a living thing before, he enjoys it. He comes home smiling every day, even if he knows that once he's big enough Isiah will have to go. Maybe he has a little squirrel family waiting for him to come home.

He's feeding Isiah when the front door slams.

Michael freezes. His father is never home at this time. Never. _It'll be fine_, he tells himself. _He never comes up here_. Michael and his father share a minimum amount of interaction.

Footsteps coming up the stairs.

_No no no_.

"Michael," a voice calls.

"A-a minute father."

"Now, Michael." He scrambles to put Isiah back in his box, straightening his shirt before leaving his room.

"Yes, father?"

"What were you doing?"

"Homework, father."

"Hm," he old man mutters. His breath smells sickly-sweet, Michael holds his breath. "Do you know what happened today, Michael?"

"No, father."

"My pay was cut."

"I- I'm sorry, father."

"I have not remarried within my designated mourning period," he says bitterly, barely concealed rage simmering beneath the surface. "Until I replace the woman I love, who you killed, with some new whore, I will not be getting full pay. I still have a quota of one more little bastard to produce." His father gets uncomfortably close to his face. "So, if you couldn't tell, Michael; I have had a piss-poor day. So I don't," he raises a hand and strikes Michael across the face. "Appreciate," he shoves his son to the ground. "Being," a boot hits Michael in the gut. "Lied to." He reaches down and grabs the boy by his shirt, pulling him up to meet his eyes. "Now," he spits, "What were you doing?"

Michael opens his bloody mouth, whether to come clean or lie again neither knows, when an unmistakable sound can be heard from his room. A high pitched chittering, aggressive. His father's eyes go dark; he drops Michael to the floor and enters the room.

"Michael," he calls out behind him. "Wait in the living room."

Michael is sitting on the couch, desperately holding back tears. His father walks slowly down the stairs and puts something down on the coffee table. It's Isiah, his little neck snapped. Michael sobs, clutching his mouth.

"I will have respect in my household, Michael." He grabs the boy once again and leads towards the door. "Otherwise I will have them take you away. This is your last chance, Michael. You wouldn't want to be re-educated, would you?"

15 year old Benny wanted to see the lights

It's all Grandpa's fault really. Him and all his stupid stories. Benny knows he shouldn't have climbed the water tower, but he couldn't help it.

"Why you look down on this city at night, Benny, you can't see the dirtiness. Can't see the ugly greys and blacks. All you can see is lights, bright and beautiful, like stars. It's the closest you'd ever get to stars anymore, son. All we have left to wish on."

He just wants to see the lights. There's only once place he knows high enough to see the city from. So he climbs it.

It's so cold, but Benny doesn't care. He keeps going, clinging to the ladder as he climbs higher and higher. He gets to the top and closes his eyes. _What if it's not like I imagined? What if I can't see them_? He opens them slowly. What he sees takes his breath away.

_Better than I imagined_, he thinks, gazing at the white glints over the city. _So much better_. He reaches out, as if he could touch them. He thinks hard for a few seconds, then makes his decision. _I wish I could see the stars_.

"Well well," a voice beside his says. Suddenly Benny can't see anything, he's blinded by a flashlight. "Big mistake, boy. Down we come now."

Grandpa doesn't say he proud of him. Doesn't say he isn't. Doesn't pass, judgement, doesn't even look at the fresh black strike. The old man only has one question.

"Did you make a wish?"

_A slave is a slave_

_Whether they know it or not_


	3. Chapter 3

_Burn down their buildings_

_Crash their cars_

You pushed your luck, children. We warned you. Guess those strikes weren't enough to scare you off. We'll just have to fix that, won't we?

18 year old Cas gets caught in a sticky situation

They said their parents wouldn't be home until 7. That's plenty of time for Cas. Twins, a boy and a girl. One dark haired, one light, but the same hazel eyes. He just couldn't resist.

He doesn't hear them come in, which is understandable. He's a bit occupied by the dick up his ass and the wet heat around his own. Thrusting and being thrust into. Glorious.

He notices the scream though. A high pitched mother scream, followed by a fatherly bellow. So much for back at seven, it's barely six a clock.

The girl cries and weeps, the brother holds her. He made us, they say. He threatened us. We would never do anything like that, it's wrong. Sinful. The pair of sirens get off scot free, but not Cas. No, after that stunt with his hunk of a maths teacher (_Harder, Mr Ackles, harder_) the previous year, he is deemed unfit for society. So they ship him off to the madhouse to be "fixed". Cas laughs as they bundle him into the van, his mother sobbing in the distance. Hell, at least I'll fit in for once.

14 year old Sam wants it all to go away

The best way he can find is drugs. He's been buying from Lilith for a year now, working for it. Lilith run most of the smuggling rigs this part of the country, she's very powerful and a fucking psycho. Not a single strike on her record.

Back when he only wanted the heroin, she only gave him little jobs. Deliver this package to the man in the diner wearing a green tie. Take these bloody clothes to my drycleaners. Give her a back massage after a hard day. But now he needs it, now he's desperate for his next hit. This is what she wanted, what she waited for. He used to think he had hit some kind of jackpot, only now does he see how deep he's in.

Sammy's big for his age, and if she wants him to hold someone down while she rips them open for a late payment, he does it. If she wants him to meet her clients and deliver packages personally, he does it. If she wants him to lie on the floor an lick at her clit like a good little boy, he does it. He just needs a fix, needs it like air. But today Lilith wanted something different.

She has other pets, lots of them. People will do all sorts of things when they don't have money to feed their habits. Amelia is her other favourite, she's Sam's friend and mentor. She says she came after her "family" were busted by the cops and most of them were taken away. She's alone, her real sister was stabbed in an alley and left for dead.

"How are my two special babies doing?" They just nod and smile, any other response was dangerous. "Well, these weeks rations are in your boxes." Lilith always gives them their skag in lunch boxes, she really gets off on this mommy shit. "But, this week I want something a little special. You get an extra big treat." She ruffles Sam's hair, he suppresses a shudder. "I want little baby Sammy to take big sister Amelia," she brings their hands together, "And fuck her over the table."

Amelia gasps. She's nearly 25, Sam really is like a baby to her. She can't hold back tears. This is intended to be humiliating, plain and simple. _I could walk away, I don't have to do this, you could walk away from this_. But her box is sitting on the table, taunting her with the promise of peace. And Sam, poor Sam, he needs this too. She can't- _I can't_-

"Oh baby," Lilith strokes her cheek, "Don't cry. Nothing fancy, you don't have to drag it out. Quick and simple, then you both get your treats." She pulls Amelia in for a hug, she smell like acid rain. "Be a good girl, Amelia. You wouldn't want mommy to get angry, do you?"

Sam walks home in the rain, clutching his box to his chest. His chest shakes with dry sobs, there were no tears left. His first time, that should have been at least a little special, right? Not in a dark room, crying his eyes out as Amelia struggled not to scream and throw him off. Lilith laughing and encouraging, eventually coaxing a painful orgasm out of him. They had kissed Lilith's hand, took their boxes and left. Amelia will never want to look him in the eyes again. Hell, he'll never want to look himself in the eyes again. It was never supposed to be like this, he just wanted to get away for this society's sick ways. Now look at him, a pathetic broken mess.

As usual, Dad and Dean aren't home. Sam goes to his room and takes his stamps out of the box. There's a lot more than usual, way more.

_I wonder how much will kill me_?

White, all around. Lights flashing and faces blurring. Noises from every direction, he can't focus on anything. He can't breathe. He's not breathing.

20 year old Lucifer has voices in his head

They won't shut up. They all sound like his mother.

"Piece of shit, look at you. Shit grades, no college education, shit job. Living in my house, should have kicked you out when I had the chance. You're a disappointment, you always were. Look at those fucking strikes. You tried to run away like a little bitch, then when my heart kicked in you just sat there, staring. Left me there for two fucking days, you sick little shit. Always crying about how daddy put a bullet in his mouth, but I die and you leave me on the kitchen floor to rot."

Lucifer puts his hands over his ears.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up."

"You pathetic son of a bitch, just like your daddy. I was a saint to put up with you both, look where it got me. I always wanted to wring your scrawny neck, yet your crazy ass is still standing. Why don't you just end it?"

"Stop it, please stop it." He's rocking back and forth, pressing a lit cigarette into his palm. "Just go away, please."

"C'mon, daddy's here waiting for you, little bitch. Who knows what I'm doing to her down here, I'm her hell after all. No little baby Luci to hold his hand and tell him that mommy doesn't mean it. No, he's too much of a coward. He's gonna live out his days on the brink of a third strike, waiting for the day he's brave enough to jump off that bridge."

"Stop it," he screams, clawing at his face. Everywhere he looks, he sees her. Her chair, her room, her house. Places she hit him and places she hit his father. "Go away, go away, go away." _Burn it down_.

He sits on the pavement, waiting. He knows they're coming, he can already hear them. He doesn't care. All that matters it the beautiful black smoke, tearing that hell hole down. He likes to think the smoke is carrying his father up to heaven, keeping him away from her. Her can't hear her anymore, she screamed and screamed but now she's gone. Gone gone gone.

The man tuts at his cigarette burns.

"They'll sort you out here, Mr Wormwood. Once you're better, you can come home." Luicfer laughs and rubs his fresh strike, bolder than the others.

"Home? What home?"

17 year old Benny won't let him get away with it

He meets Andrea when he's 15 and my god he loves her. They're waiting until they turn 18, until they get married. She loves him despite those dirty black marks on his skin, despite the looks he gets when he walks down the street. They're planning to have a family, a daughter, a long life together.

One day, Gordon Walker walks up behind Andrea on her way home, grabs her by the hair and drags her into an alley. She hits Benny number on speed dial in her pocket, he hears their struggle through the phone and runs, tears the street near her house apart to find her. He gets there in time to see Gordon zipping his trousers back up, Andrea's suffocated corpse lying on the filthy ground like a rag doll. Blind rage kicks in.

"Vigilante violence is never condoned, Mr Lafitte. The loss of life at Mr Walker's hands is regrettable, but it was for us to punish him, not you. You have shown yourself to be a dangerous individual, you will be strike and re-educated. Maybe then you can repay us the life you have taken. Hearing dismissed."

16 year old Anna can't bear their lies

_Dear Anna_

_So, this it. Me, writing that note I've been threatening for so long. I'm sorry. __I never wanted you to see __I never wanted to hurt you. You're my best friend, I love you so much. It's just not enough anymore. I can't stay. I've got the pills, I need to do this._

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

_Be stronger. __Be strong for me__. Be stronger than me._

_Uriel_

Anna brings herself to go to school. She has to, she has to be strong. So she keeps going even though a scream is threatening to rip from her throat and all she wants to do is tear her hair out.

"Class, I have regrettable news. Uriel Wisdom has passed away. He was hit by a car late last night. We must strive on in his absence." Anna froze.

"...What?"

"Now Ms Milton, I understand you were close-"

"Uriel wasn't hit by a car."

"I can assure you, the report his right here-"

"Uriel killed himself. Why are you lying to us?"

"That's enough-"

"You're lying." She stands up and moves slowly towards the front, like an animal stalking its prey. "Why are you lying? Uriel killed himself, he told me he would. Why are you lying?" She pounces, clutching the teacher's arms. Anger makes her strong, blind rage makes her grip unbreakable and the teacher's eyes are wide with fear. "Stop lying to us! All you do is lie, lie, lie. Uriel killed himself. Say it. Say it!"

She thrashes the teacher back and forth. Everyone sits, horrified as this red-haired witch rants for her best friend's honour."He deserves to be recognised. He killed himself, he deserves credit. Stop lying, don't take it away from him. He killed himself. Say it!"

The teacher head hits the desk and someone finally thinks to stop her. She can't even see anymore, her tears are thick like syrup in her bloodshot eyes. "He deserves better," she whimpers. "So much better..."

She's unstable, she's vulnerable. She could hurt herself, she could hurt others. She has already hurt her teacher, even if it was no more than a simply cut to the forehead. Her friend has had a horrible accident, simply tragic. Re-education will be good for her. She'll get better. She return to a normal life.

17 year old Dean won't let them

"It is necessary, Mr Winchester. I'm sure you understand."

"Dad, don't-"

"Of course I understand, sir."

"Your son has been through a lot. The loss of a mother in his life may have triggered this. You should consider talking a wife before his return home, we can send you the details of some suitable candidates."

"Thank you sir."

"Dad-"

"Hush, Dean."

"You can't-"

"We'll be taking him now, Mr Winchester. No use waiting until after his recovery, less painful if he doesn't have to say goodbye."

"As you wish, sir."

"No!" Dean screams. They're not taking Sammy, he won't let them take Sammy. "Leave him alone, leave him alone!" He shielded his brother with his body and drew a knife from his jacket. "Leave him alone!"

"Dean-"

"I need backup-"

"Leave him alone!" The man in the suit twitches and Dean lunges, a threat detected. It's blind instinct, hardwired self-conditioning. Protect Sammy. Eliminate threat. Protect Sammy. Eliminate threat. It got him his second strike and it will get him his third. Protect Sammy. Eliminate threat.

"Two siblings in one day," the guard signed. "It's been a while since that happened."

"When was it, those Harvelle kids," said his partner.

"Man those two are fucked up. They still inside?"

"6 years and going strong."

"Jesus. It's a wonder they don't just take 'em behind the sheds."

"That's how it used to be. Guess we're 'civilised' now. Who knows, maybe those Winchesters will be in and out in the usual 3 months. Well, after the little one wakes up."

"Yeah, 'usual'. How long has it been since someone spent less than a year in here?"

"Longer than I can remember."

"Longer than most people in there remember either."

"I guess. Poor psychos."

16 year old Ruby didn't know

_I didn't know I didn't know I didn't know I didn't know I didn't know I didn't know _

No one ever told her. She knows now. Christ she knows now.

They said it happened when two people got married. When they loved each other. When they would have compatible children. The never said anything about it happening like this. Never like this.

Ava was talking the other day and said she couldn't fuck her boyfriend because she was out of birth control. You have to buy it on the streets now, it's been illegal for a long time to discourage sex with intent to reproduce. Ruby had never heard of it, Ava explained and Ruby heart turned icy.

Now she's in a clinic and she can't stop crying. The doctor says they're going to take care of the problem and then strike her.

Take care of the problem. There's a baby in her belly, she's not sure whose. She didn't know, she didn't know how it worked. They never told her, they never told her. Mom doesn't care, Dad doesn't care. They're going to take her baby, then take her.

She didn't know.

19 year old Victor won't let them take his friend

Brady had been taken in for his second strike the same day as Victor. To this day he hasn't told him why. They've been together, inseperable, since that day they sat next to each other in a corridor waiting to have their failures branded into their skin. They're brother. But now they want to take him away.

"You can't let them take me, Vic."

"Shhh, Brady, please. What did you do?"

"I shot them, Vic. All those years of them hitting me and spitting on me, telling me I'm worthless. I couldn't take it anymore. I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Victor holds him tight in his arms.

"They're going to strike me. They're going to take me away."

"Never. I won't let them." They're not taking his brother.

"Good evening, Mr Henrickson." The officer at the door has a smile that doesn't match his tone.

"Officer."

"Can I come in?" Victor nods, not like he can do anything.

"How can I help you, sir?" The man sits down, clearly comfortable in his authority. Victor tries to stop his hand twitching.

"Well, we're looking for a friend of yours, one Brady Johnson?"

"Brady? I haven't seen him since work this morning."

"Is that so?" The officer cracks his knuckles. "So you didn't know he killed four people today?"

"Brady- Brady wouldn't do that."

"He was positively IDed at all the scenes and we know he recently invested in an ilegal firearm. Any idea where he could be?"

"No, like I said, I haven't seen him." The officer is smiling know, the sight makes Victor feels sick.

"So you have no idea why he's in your guest bedroom?"

"He- he's not-"

"Mics in the area picked up his voice. The heat signals outside indicate a second person present. I know by the thickness of the walls that he can hear me right now. Why don't you come out, Brady?" The bedroom door slides open and Victor's heart thumps with every approaching step. Brady had a gun.

"Vic, I can't-"

"Brady, please, don't-"

"Why don't you both calm down and come with me-"

"I can't, brother, I can't-" he raises the gun to his mouth. The officer reaches for his taser but Brady is a quicker draw. Then he's gone.

Victor's alone all over again. Hell, maybe he can find other people in this place like him. People who have nothing left.

18 year old Meg lies in the tub waiting for it all to go away

She just keeps slashing. Up, down, left, right. She doesn't know what's fastest or even what works. She just keep going, gushing and bleeding into the hot water. She knows there should be pain but there is only a numbness, static buzzing under her skin. She's too far away, she's high as a kite and falling fast.

Meg tries desperately to scratch at her stitches in the back of the van. They have her handcuffed, "for her own good". All she could think was a constant tattoo of _failure, failure, failure_ in the back of her skull.

_Failure, failure, failure_.

20 year old Michael can't stop

He's trying, oh God he's trying. He knows it's wrong, it's one of the worst things someone can do. But he just he _can't_-

He can't stop stabbing his father.

It's a mess. There's blood, clothes, things he doesn't even want to think about. And his father's bloody corpse, like a sacrafice in the middle of a bloody ceremonial circle.

And Michael, little baby Michael; who never said a bad word, defended people from bullies and always wanted to raise his own family, hands raw red and slick with the blood from which he came.

So much blood.

"He's clearly a psychopath."

"I agree. This place is probably an insuficiant punishment for him. We could have someone take care of him quietly..."

"No, look at his records. He's intelligent, above average inh fact. If we fix him, he could be a valuble asset. We never have enough doctors, he has potential."

"The therapy he'll have to undergo is intensive. He'll most likely be nothing more than a walking coma patient when he comes out."

"Good. We need his brain, we don't need his personality."

19 year old Lisa thinks that if she keeps driving they won't catch her

She keeps going, faster and faster, away from the city. It's after curfew so the roads are clear, no one she can hit in her rush to get away. She can't take this anymore; everyday is the same and it's driving her crazy. She needs to _live_.

She has 300 dollars in her pocket and the fifth of vodka she drank for courage is making the streets blur as she races towards the rest of her life. There has to be somewhere she can belong, somewhere far away from the grey walls and disproving attitudes of people telling her to stop dreaming and start working. To become a part of the system, to conform. To eventually meet a suitable partner, have a enough boring vanilla sex to pump out 3 kids. Not the life for Lisa. She wants adventure, excitment, romance. Like the stories her great aunt and uncle used to tell her about girls who fought off governments for their famillies and boys who lost everything but fought with their friends for the greater good. Stories of loved ones lost and found, of powers and immortals and life amoung the stars that were barely visible in the sky anymore. That was what she wants, what she needed.

Shame about her wrapping her car around a tree.

She spends two days in hospital before they take her away. If only she had powers, she could fly for freedom.

15 year old Gabriel wants to be loved

Virgil is 18 and looks it. He's all smouldering good looks and dark eyes, kisses that taste like cigarette smoke and suffering. When he holds Gabriel's hand, the young boys soul warms and when Virgil fucks him he sees stars. He's an old tortured soul, and Gabriel likes to think the older boy loves him. He keeps telling himself that.

"Virgil, it's nearly curfew, I need to get home."

"Chill, baby. You can stay the night." Virgil gently rubs Gabriel's hole, sore from the nights earlier activities. Gabriel tries not to flinch at the cold touch.

"I have school, I need to be home."

"I'll drop you in the morning, relax." The finger nugdes in slightly, nearly breaching. Gabriel shivers, he's not ready to go again, he can't.

"What if someone sees? It's too dangerous, I'm not losing my last strike for a round two."

"Gabriel." The tone is colder now, the finger moves inside the puckered flesh and Gabriel can feel tears. "You're staying."

"Virgil, I need to-" The finger is in deep, not far from his prostate, and it hurts. Virgil does this sometimes, Fingers him while he's raw, never touching the spot that would make it pleasurable for his young lover. Takes him again too soon and tells him how good he is, but never "I love you". Gabriel can often hear it in his voice though, he swears he can. Not now

"Shhh, stay still." The finger is joined by another and _oh God it hurts_.

"Virgil, stop-" He's crzing now, he doesn't want this. "Please, stop." Virgil shifts his weight and Gabriel cannot move. He is pinned down by the boy, the man, he loves. He struggles, he doesn't want this, he wants it to stop.

"Stop squirming, Gabe. I know you love it, little slut. If you don't stay still I'm taking you dry." Gabriel's teary eyes widen.

_No, this is wrong. He's not- He wouldn't- He's going to fucking rape me_.

He panics. Their skulls meet with a crack, and as Virgil screams profanities Gabriel loses conciousness.

"Yes, hello, emergency services? I'm reporting an attempted break-in. Teenage boy, looks about 15. I have him tied down, he attacked me. Yes sir. The address is..."

Gabriel doesn't bother to fight his restraints. It's over, it's all over. The one person he thought loved him is sending him away. It's over.

_Drink yourself blind_

_But never stupid_


End file.
